


Kowru

by DaifukuBun



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Growing Up Together, M/M, if you think i should tag something else just ask and i'll do it, karlshaun, kids are kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 13:17:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4608192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaifukuBun/pseuds/DaifukuBun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Home isn't very tidy, so he's here now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kowru

X

One of the most needed moments in his life is when he finds a translucent, pink pail of sidewalk chalk alone in a rain gutter.

Kaworu eyes the ground with pure curiosity, two fingers hooked to his empty, exaggerated belt loops and his moss green shorts flaring up at the knees. His gaze floats from an array of pebbles, to the rainwater still rotting in the gutter, and finally to the pail of chalk again. Its worn plastic lid glares in the sun. Freeing his hands, Kaworu crouches so that his arms wrap around his knees, and for a while he just looks at the thing.

Then, he grabs it by its handle and shakes the water off of its surface. It fits nicely in his hand, he thinks, what with the way it swings when he walks. This is, of course, a tiny, indiscernible pleasure, and soon he's trotting a few steps back, all the way to the hop scotch diagram drawn on the ground.

The tub of chalk opens with a dry snap, sending a puff of white powder into the air, but he ignores this in favor of digging into its contents and pulling out a sky blue. It's a bit clunky between three of his fingers, but he makes it work, and soon enough he's on all fours, staring at the concrete and wondering just what to create. After a bout of short, meaningless deliberation, Kaworu sketches a simple, over-exaggerated smiley face, with a grin larger than what should be anatomically possible. No teeth, though. He doesn't think he's ever seen someone smile with teeth.

X

The next time Kaworu comes to check on his creation, it's in the dead of night, in a tempest of darkness and an orchestra of crickets. Needless to say, he has to squint to remotely see what's right in front of him, much less where he had hidden the pail of chalk. Eventually, though, he finds it, having remembered that he had stuffed it behind a dense bush.

He holds the pail and again it swings when he walks, but this time he doesn't notice, as he's far too busy trying to discern just where his drawing lies on the large expanse of concrete he's surrounded by.

Luckily, a noisy truck makes its way past on the street to his left, and the large expanse of concrete he centers is illuminated by a pair of headlights for only a fraction of a second. Always with the keen vision, Kaworu spots his little smiley face immediately, and with a stutter in his step he realizes that it's not alone. Curious, his feet carry him to that spot on the ground, and without a second thought he skids to his knees, not really caring about the way the grits of concrete mar his soft skin.

However, despite his excitement, he is once again bathed in an ornery dark that harbors a blindness. Kaworu stares at the art he knows is there. He stares, and he begins to grow lonely waiting for a light, and so he looks up to survey his surroundings.

Two, three basketball hoops, as well as a tether-ball pole lined neatly before an expansive field that's twice the size of the concrete terrace. To his right, an intricate playground. He doesn't know why, but he always finds himself here, behind this school, after its hours have died. Maybe it's close to his house or maybe it's far enough that he feels like he's on a vacation. In all honesty, he doesn't know the truth behind most of his actions, and that's why when another car passes and he looks down at the ground, he laughs aloud to the nobody in his vicinity.

Of all things, someone had drawn a carton of milk next to his little smiley face, with the word _moo_ etched into the ground in a capitalized scrawl. He's not sure why, but such an out of context thing utterly tickles him, so much so that he doesn't notice that one of the sticks of chalk is missing.

X

He wants to make sure that he'll see his creation fully this time. So, he makes his way to the same school, the only difference being he does so in the middle of the day.

When he arrives, wearing a brand new outfit which consists of a long, striped shirt and some overalls, he puts in the effort to at least hide himself behind a lone, concrete wall. It's a bit of a shame, as he's feeling rather confident in this new ensemble he had been gifted for Christmas just a few years back, and only now had he grown into it. Still, he consoles himself, because he knows he'll be out in the open soon for all to see. Oh, but at the same time, such a thought is so nerve-wracking...

Kaworu's fingernails sort of grind into the concrete wall as he waits, his gaze pinned to the teacher on recess duty, always with that shiny, obnoxious whistle. He hates the thing, honestly. It emits just about the loudest sound he's ever heard.

There comes a point at which the duty's back is turned, though, and he sees this as his chance, darting about and behind the metal of a basketball hoop, as if it would protect him from any sort wandering eye. Really, it never occurs to him that his entire situation would turn out better if only he'd act natural... but, well, Kaworu has never been one to grasp the concept of 'natural'. All the same, he watches the guard like a hawk, dissecting their every turn and glance to mean something in terms of his success. He pays little to no mind to the kids running around with their games and their sports shoes, and, truly, this is a fatal mistake on his part, for right when he's about to sprint over to his tiny drawing, a sticky, stubby hand grabs onto his thin wrist, and pulls. Kaworu makes a sound falling somewhere between  _guh_ and  _eep_.

“Hey.” says a haughty, yet raspy voice. Kaworu is far too astonished to say anything about his now crooked shoulder. His eyes are wide, and he turns only to see a boy who's slightly taller than him and wears a, somehow, obnoxiously curious implication in his gaze.

Kaworu just blinks and sort of makes a sniffling sound. The boy, with wavy, sand colored hair and a pair of impressively thick glasses, wipes a bit of snot away from his nostril with an index finger.

“Are you an alien?”

When he doesn't say anything, the taller boy proceeds to pout, looking down at him with childish vexation.

“Do you talk? Hey, why is your hair a weird color? Are you an old guy or an alien?”

Kaworu blinks. “I'm five.”

“You talk!” the boy cheers, finally letting go of Kaworu's wrist. “So what planet did you come from? Does everyone have white hair there? Hey, do you have any birthmarks? I have one shaped kinda like an airplane. Wanna see?”

Kaworu begins to glance nervously to his left, cradling his sticky wrist with his opposite hand. He had only wanted to see the milk carton again... That's all. He didn't ask for any of this. The recess duty blows their whistle, and the boy in front of him twitches. Suddenly the fenced area is enveloped in a chorus of screaming children, who Kaworu had learned do so out of habit when their break is over.

“Whose class are you in?” asks the sticky boy, stealing Kaworu's wrist again. The fair-skinned boy feels as though he's chewing something bitter and is being forced to swallow it. “I've never seen you before. Are you new? Are you undercover? I bet you're three elves in an overcoat and that's why you look kinda like Santa!”

“That's a bunch of questions.” Kaworu murmurs, shaken, as he's dragged out from behind the wall. “I-I don't...” he says, before he loses his voice. The doors squeak when they open.

“'Kay, well, you're weird.” says the boy, shoving his glasses farther up his freckled nose. Finally, finally he lets go of Kaworu, but before he can formulate an escape plan, he's swept away in a crowd of fellow tiny children, and soon he's in a bright classroom, and soon he feels like he's going to throw up. It's all a little too much.

He's always been fascinated, but it's... it's never happened before, and in a fit of anxiety he holds his tummy as he stares blankly at a bunch of other kids hanging up their jackets and ambling to their seats. The boy from before is nowhere to be seen. Truly, he feels rather cheated.

Maybe he can sneak out, he thinks, but then he sees... an empty seat, secluded and with a desk so scratched it's a miracle it's survived this long. Swallowing, he stares at it.

Blending in with a crowd of children, he steps, hesitant, toward the open seat. Then, as if deciding his entire fate, he sits, and he waits, two hands placed primly together atop a scratchy surface.

X

It works, for a while. Kaworu sits in the desk, and no one says a thing. A small smile fits its way onto his face. Perhaps he can see what it's like, just for a day. School.

The teacher, a nice blonde lady with an odd dot on her face, talks about grammar and addition and other things that he has to squint to understand, but he pays attention anyway, because such intricacies are fascinating when they carry no meaning. It's a little like hearing a foreign language, although he's quite versed himself in English.

Though, soon, his reverie is stomped upon, for the door of the classroom opens with a sharp creak, and it's at this moment that Kaworu notices the desk he occupies is full of crumpled papers and crayons.

The teacher looks up from her lesson, only to frown.

“I was wondering where you were.” she says, and with only the small, scolding tone hidden under her voice Kaworu winces. The entire class turns to the gaping door, and none of them seem very surprised to see a small boy with chestnut brown hair and a little straw hat to be standing there, his small, circular hands poised gently on the metal door frame.

“I had to go to the bathroom.” the boy says with a small voice, stepping back into the hall a little bit. “I'm sorry.”

“It's alright.” chides the teacher. “Just let me know next time, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then, he steps into the room, taking off his hat and hanging it with the other kids' jackets. He has to stand on his toes to reach, though, and Kaworu watches all the while, eyeing the band-aids on his knees. The entire class is silent as this comes to pass, as if grateful for the break in lessons. The kid soon turns, though, at first walking without missing a beat and then pausing, blinking, and questioning the fact that someone new is in his seat.

Kaworu's gaze meets the other boy's, and upon a morbid realization, he panics. He can't move, though. He just stays in the seat and feels the pace of his breath quicken, feels his face turn an angry red.

“Teacher.” the boy calls.

“What is it?” replies the lady, turning away from the chalkboard once more. She looks kind of tired. 

The boy points a short finger in Kaworu's direction. “Who's that?”

And the entire class seems to stop, all staring simultaneously at Kaworu in question. The fair-skinned boy clenches two fists in his lap, swallowing audibly and peering around at the many eyes burying holes into his skin. He can feel himself shaking.

“What's your name?” the teacher says in a false, honeyed tone, peering into him with a set of eyes that appear to already know far more than they should. Kaworu doesn't know why, but something about this lady screams knowing.

Kaworu takes a moment to wobble in his seat before answering in a raspy voice. “Na... um, Nagisa.”

The boy with the chestnut hair takes this time to patter up to him, and Kaworu looks up only to see a pair of curious brown eyes.

“Is that your family name or your first name?” pipes the teacher. Kaworu shifts his focus back to her, only feel the stares of dozens of other children again. He swallows a bubble of air.

“I don't know.”

“What do people call you?”

A kid somewhere in the classroom coughs rather loudly. “Kaworu. There's a W when you--”

With a dusty tap, the teacher sets her piece of chalk down, dusts off her hands, and proceeds to approach Kaworu with a click in every step. Once at the desk in the corner of the room, she kneels closer to his level, and the boy with the dark hair continues to watch the exchange wordlessly.

“I'm Ms. Akagi.” says the teacher, in a hushed tone so that the rest of the class won't hear. They still watch, though. “Are you in the wrong classroom?”

In his peripheral vision, Kaworu sees the brown-eyed boy rock on his heels, unfazed.

“Oopsie.” Kaworu says, simple, clipped. He stands from the seat, its chair ruffling the scraggly carpet of the classroom as he toes to the door.

“Whose class are you in?”

Kaworu makes it to the door and stands on his toes to reach the knob. “Uuuumm. The one with the snake. I'm sorry. I'll go.”

With that, the door creaks open once again, and despite Ms. Akagi's protests, her recommendations for an escort and etcetera, Kaworu is already gone by the time she peeks out the door. There aren't any classes with pet snakes... And gee, this boy is fast.

 

X

He returns to the schoolyard later in the evening, when the sky is a blend of yellows and purples and everything in between. Now that the school is void of life, his feet feel much less foreign on the concrete of its playground.

At last, he returns to his creation, only to see it smeared from the rambunctious footfalls of playful children. With a frown, he sets about retrieving the bucket of chalk he had hidden, only to find it missing. Kaworu stares at where it had been for a few minutes. Then, he stares some more, before turning on his toes and pattering back over to the drawing on the ground. When he looks down at it, it looks back up at him, smears, milk carton, happy face, and all.

Deciding to do what he can, anyhow, he drops to his knees, wiping away the excess dust that's gathered around it, uncaring to the fact that his hands are getting dirty. He blows on it, too, but is alarmed to see that doing so only fades it more.

With a downtrodden breath, he stares down at the drawing, denying that it will be gone soon. He'll save it, he knows it, along with the milk, too. It'll be okay, even if he has to put a great big fence around it. Yeah. Now, where can he get a fence...

And then there's a sound behind him, and his shoulders jolt.

“Did you draw that?”

Kaworu doesn't look up. He only sees a pair of shoes approach the left side of his drawing, stopping there.

“I lost the chalk.” he says to the air. The tips of the two shoes meet, as if the owner of them is poking their toes together. At last Kaworu looks up, only to see the boy from before, wearing his straw hat once again and carrying a partially deflated basketball. His eyes look a bit like weird ovals from his current angle. There's something on the inside of his nose.

“I took the chalk.” the boy says. Kaworu blinks.

“Huh?”

“Did you draw the happy face?”

“Yeah.”

“I drew the milk.”

“Oh.”

After a bit of silence in which they both seem to mourn the drawings, the boy turns and begins bouncing the ball on the ground, slowly, and with two hands. “I took it home 'cause I ran out of mine. Is it yours?”

“Uh-huh.” he lies.

The boy then proceeds to toss the ball into the air, catching it before it hits the ground.

“Finders, keepers. Losers, weepers.” the boy says. He turns a small, shy smile Kaworu's way, before he holds the ball up to him. “Do you want to play?”

“I can't throw that high.” Kaworu says weakly, glancing at a nearby basketball hoop. He doesn't know how the game works, either. Something about flowy shorts.

“Me neither. I meant catch. If you play, I'll give you back some chalk.”

Kaworu sits there for a bit. Then, he stands to his full height, the same as the other boy.

“Okay.”

With that, Kaworu backs away, far enough for a reasonable throw. His heels hit the curb that is the beginning of a grassy field. A short breeze ruffles his hair, and one of his overall straps bumps into his neck when he raises his arms.

The boy, who he realizes still has no name, throws the ball into the air, and it glides into a quick arc before Kaworu catches it with a clap. After a pause, he throws it back, with much more speed, as rather than an arc the ball creates something akin to a beeline. It lands in the other boy's hands with a vapid plop.

“Why were you sitting in my desk?” the boy asks, despite the distance between them. He throws the ball back to Kaworu.

“I got lost.” Kaworu says, simple, catching the ball again and scraping his wrist a little in the process.

“Teacher was worried. What year are you in?”

The ball sails back to the dark-haired boy. Kaworu doesn't even know what that means. “Um. I'm five.”

“Me too. What class are you in?” when he asks this, the curious boy holds the ball close to his torso. He blinks, waiting for a reply. For children, they're both rather docile.

“Why are you here after school?” Kaworu answers with another question.

“Teacher knows Misato and they talk sometimes.”

Comprehending nothing, Kaworu lifts his arms when the other boy throws the ball once again. Wordlessly, they continue to toss it back and forth.

“Hey, why's your hair that color?”

“I don't know.”

“I think it's cool.”

“Thanks.”

“I heard Teacher say there wasn't a... Kowru in our school.”

“Oh.”

“Your name's funny. It reminds me of cows in English. You know, moo.”

A smile smile enlightens his face. “It's not spelled like cow.”

“Aww.”

Kaworu misses the ball, and he has to step into the field to stop it from rolling away.

“I'll bring you back a blue chalk.” the boy says while Kaworu's back is turned. “But that means you have to come back tomorrow.”

“Okay.” he says.

From somewhere not so far away, they both hear the rickety sound of an old door opening, and without much thought Kaworu glances upward. A lady with long, dark hair exits the school, pocketing some sort of rectangular device. A phone. Maybe. Kaworu has never seen a phone but he's certainly heard of one.

“Shinji!”

Kaworu holds the ball close to his belly and watches as the other boy lifts his head, gazing at the woman in question. Glancing at Kaworu only once, he then proceeds to amble up to the woman, his height only reaching about her mid-thigh. “What?”

“It's time to go home. I'm making your favorite tonight, remember?”

“Aw, but, you always burn it.” says the boy, grabbing the lady's pinkie finger.

“I won't get better without practice, so you'll just have to live with it. … And, I bought cookies for dessert.”

Kaworu watches the two walk away, still holding the ball to in his small hands. The boy proceeds to jump around happily at the mention of cookies, and the lady begins to laugh. Then, the boy stops, and looks over his shoulder. He puts one hand high in the air and swings it back and forth, and before thinking about it, Kaworu returns the gesture, poising his left hand in front of himself and wiggling it a little bit.

When the boy continues on his way, he grabs the lady's hand again.

“Who was that?” he hears her say.

“That's my new friend Kowru.”

X

“It's like this.”

“Like... like this?”

“No, you gotta keep them there. Like sticks.”

“My legs aren't sticks.”

“I don't care.” Shinji mutters, his hands taut around both chains. “You have to pretend they are, or you won't swing.”

Kaworu pushes his weight into the rubbery seat of the swing, trying no to be bothered by the incessant creaking of the bolts somewhere higher than them. He leans back, much of his hair fanning out behind his shoulders, trying his best to keep his legs straight like the horizon... before falling onto his back and blinking up at the cloudy sky.

“Like this.” the other boy insists. Kaworu looks up to see him doing exactly what Kaworu had been trying to parrot, only he's much, much better at it.

“That's not fair.”

“What's not fair? You just have to hold on, and don't let your butt slip.” Shinji says, swinging into a relaxed tempo. Today he's wearing a beige little coat. Kaworu is kind of jealous.

“But you're used to it. This is my first time swinging.”

“If you wanted, you could do it on your belly.”

“What?”

Shinji digs his feet into the gravel beneath them, making a ruckus in the otherwise desolate playground. Kaworu sits up, hunching his shoulders. Today he's just wearing a pair of denim shorts that's a little too small, coupled with an old violet shirt. He watches the other boy flop back onto the swing like a seal.

“Like this.”

“How do you swing like that?”

Shinji's face is a little red from being partially upside-down. He squirms, before digging his shoes into the gravel again. “It's easy. You push yourself with your feet.”

Kaworu takes a moment to observe the other boy flail around ridiculously before grinning a bit and getting on his feet. He, too, flops onto a swing, albeit with a tad too much enthusiasm.

“Ow!”

“Hahahaha!”

Dejected, Kaworu pouts, his arms hanging down with his fingertips only millimeters away from the gravel. “This isn't very comfy.”

“Go ahead, push.”

Puffing his red cheeks full of air, he wiggles so that his toes are planted in the gravel. Then, he lifts off, and for a moment he sees the same cloudy sky before he's huffing and puffing air back into his lungs. “Oooow...”

“I don't think the swings like you.” Shinji says. Kaworu nods, mute. “Well, we could go on the--”

“Shinji!”

Both boys look up, only to see the waving arms of that same violet-haired woman from before. Immediately, Shinji struggles away from the swing, ambling the impressive distance over to her. Kaworu watches silently, still hanging on the swing like a wet dishrag. The two converse, before Shinji looks over his shoulder, then turns back to the lady, saying something. She nods, and he lights up into a grin. His arms stretch so high above his head, looking like little blooms of pinkish color in the gray air.

“Hey!” he yells. “I'll be back, okay?”

Kaworu doesn't reply. He just rockets off his feet again.

X

Shinji returns a long time later with a little gold star on his forehead.

“What is that?” Kaworu balks, running up to the other boy and skidding on the concrete. He hovers his index finger above the star, afraid to poke it for some reason.

“A sticker, 'cause I helped clean up.”

“Why did you put it there?”

“Because I'm the coolest.”

“The what?”

“The coolest. Come on, let's go on the spinny thing.”

With a smack, Shinji latches onto the other boy's wrist before dragging him back to the playground. Kaworu shakes away the contact with little difficulty. “What's the spinny thing?”

“You know, the spinny thing.” chirps the boy, pointing a finger to a... well, a spinny thing. A merry-go-round? Kaworu isn't sure, but it's a big disc with handles that spins, so he follows the other boy without missing a beat. Shinji climbs atop the disc, his shoes clanging on the metal, and Kaworu does, too. They hear the gravel crunch in a rhythm, and look up to see the same lady from before, with a pencil skirt and a pair of warm eyes.

“Will you push us?” Shinji asks, excited, both of his hands already clutching one of the rusty handles. The lady smiles, and Kaworu's eyes flick back and forth between the two. He remains quiet.

With a little nod, she proceeds to take hold of one of the bars and with great power, pushes to the right. Kaworu stumbles, hurriedly grabbing onto one of the handles himself. Shinji laughs, although Kaworu isn't sure if it's at him or at how much fun he's having. Either way, it's a nice sound, and he's pretty happy to see the gray clouds part, allowing the sun and its rays to peek through and create a lovely day.

X

It becomes routine, heading over to the school after hours to play with the other boy. Shinji says he likes his company, anyhow. He says he never gets to play on the playground at recess, so when he does get to after school, he's glad he's not alone. This time, he had brought treats; a little packet of fruit snacks to share.

“Hey, you don't go to school here, do you?”

Kaworu nibbles on a blue fruit snack. It's some kind of oblong shape and for the life of him he can't tell what it's supposed to be. “No.” he says, at last shoving the thing in his mouth. It tastes like cavities.

“Where do you go?”

“I got held back.”

“But you're five.”

“I dunno.” he says simply, not minding the fact that the ground beneath them is a little muddy. They're sitting in the field. Shinji pulls a green fruit snack from the packet.

“I wish you went to school here.”

“Oh.”

X

Misato is nice, but she's really tall, so she scares him a little bit. However, one day she brings both of them a cookie, so Kaworu doesn't feel much hostility.

“What are you making tonight?”

“Spaghetti.”

“But it caught on fire last time!”

Alarmed, Kaworu looks up from his cookie, blinking, blanching.

“You put that in water, I think.” he speaks, one of his first times doing so when it's the three of them.

“I'm just that talented.” Misato says, grinning a cheeky grin. She shrugs her shoulders. Shinji latches onto her arm.

“That's really not good, Misato. You'll start a firework show in the kitchen!”

“Yeah! Wouldn't that be so cool?” she says, grabbing the boy and tickling at his sides. He throws his head back with laughter and tries to squirm away, screeching into the evening air and kicking his legs like he's slipping on a sheet of ice. Kaworu nibbles the edge of his cookie and watches the display, stiff while the bench they all rest upon shakes with the clamor. When the dark-haired boy's laughter mollifies, he takes a big bite of the cookie, failing to notice when a pair of dark eyes fall upon his head.

“I have to go pee now!” Shinji cries, jumping off the bench and stomping on the ground with a fuming, red complexion. He throws the final chunk of his cookie into his mouth and turns on his heel, trotting angrily toward the school building. Misato snorts under her breath, crossing her legs and winding a finger into her hair. Kaworu resumes his nibbling. Fortunately, Kaworu has no concept of the horrible awkward wait with a friend's parent while the friend themself is away. That, and he's five, so he doesn't really care. He just keeps eating.

It's quiet before Misato speaks.

“Hey, where are your parents?”

The boy looks up from his cookie to point over somewhere on the horizon. Misato narrows her eyes. 

“Where's that?”

“That's my house.”

“Is it close?”

Kaworu's hands drift closer to his lap, where he idly holds his treat. First, he shakes is head. Then he pauses and nods it quite fervently.

“Yes or no?”

He shrugs.

“How do you get here every day?”

“I walk.”

“Then it can't be that far, right?”

“Maybe.”

Seconds later, the creaking of a door sounds, and back trots a certain brown-haired boy. “I think the bathroom flooded, there's water everywhere!”

“... You were playing in the sink again, weren't you.”

X

Lives change at a rate faster than an excited heartbeat.

Kaworu doesn't really know how to react when he sees a long-legged, spindly mosquito perched on his wrist in the near dark. Its wings twitch, and he blinks, trying to toss aside the sensation of cold, round droplets clinging to his eyelashes like fairy lights. Without much thought he stares at the mosquito, and soon it flies away without a hitch. Already he's scratching at the invisible bump, and in the frigid air he lets out a quiet cough.

Home isn't very tidy, so he's here now.

X

“The blue ones.”

“Shinji, you should ask him what he wants.”

“The blue ones.” Shinji insists.

Kaworu grabs the hem of Misato's jacket, looking up to her chin. She doesn't have anything in her nose. “Blue is good.”

With a sigh, she hands the dark-haired boy, whose hands are pressed into a sheet of plastic glass, two wrinkled bills to put into the vending machine. He proceeds to jab the buttons of the machine for the corresponding blue bottles of juice.

Although the bottle feels cold in his hands, Kaworu wastes no time in opening it, his hands nearly slipping over the twisted cap. The fronts of his shoes are sort of scuffed. The other two don't pay him any mind; they walk, and Kaworu follows without a word.

“But it's so hard!”

The pale boy blinks, catching wind of the conversation.

“But you could make pretty music.” Shinji puffs his cheeks outward as they exit the building once again. The sun is beginning to set. “I mean,” Misato says, waving her hands around. “You could play piano, or violin, hey, you could even learn the electric guitar if you wanted!”

“I'm too little.”

“Naah, that's why there's no rush.” Misato says, swinging her arms back to her sides. “I'm just letting you know that you can in the future, if you want.”

Shinji doesn't reply, he only puts his mouth to the bottle of juice and sips. Kaworu wipes a thin sheet of sweat off his forehead with his wrist.

“I had a piano at my house.”

Shinji turns mid-drink, and Misato lights up into a smile. “Really?”

“I know how to play that star song. I forgot what it's called.” he says, nodding, smiling proudly. Shinji's eyes widen a little.

“That's kinda cool, Kowru.”

Kaworu is about to protest the miswording of his name once again, before there's a hand atop his head and he's stumbling. Five fingers sift through his hair, and his eyes flutter as he looks up in question.

“What's this?”

Shinji blinks and watches in question as his guardian kneels in front of his friend, pinning back the fringe that usually covers his entire forehead. One of her polished nails points to a gathering of something smudged close to the roots of his hair. Kaworu's eyes cross and trace upward, and one of his palms smacks flat against his forehead, feeling around. Misato had never really been one to take personal space seriously.

“Wha?” he murmurs.

“Were you rolling around in the dirt?” Misato says, rubbing at the little stain with the side of her hand.

Kaworu lowers his hand and clasps all of his fingers over the bottle of juice. He flares up his nostrils and doesn't reply, a little estranged by the feeling of his forehead being shoved back and forth.

X

“Misato said to ask you about your horse.”

Kaworu falls into the gravel from the swing once again. He allows the pads of his fingers to sizzle on the hot rocks for a moment, before dragging both his face and his gaze upward. “I don't have a horse.”

“I don't know. She said so.” Shinji says, stabbing the noisy ground with the red plastic trowel he had brought from home. He throws a bunch of rocks over his shoulder, ignoring the dust that rises to his face. Kaworu stands and sits on the swing again, trying to straighten his legs in just the right way.

“What are you doing?”

“Digging a hole.” Shinji says. “I'm going to bury my head like a sausage.”

Kaworu falls on the ground, this time in quite the dramatic fashion. His fist sinks into the pile of tiny rocks, before he rolls onto his side and stares at the other boy's back. “What's a sausage?”

“It's a bird that can't fly and buries its head in the ground. I saw it on TV.”

“Wow.” Kaworu says, breathing heavily and climbing off the ground once more. As he sits upon the seat of the swing, his only soundtrack is the clack of colliding rocks thanks to Shinji's haphazard digging skills. “You're gonna hit me.”

Shinji doesn't reply. He just keeps digging, his hands and his little shovel becoming beige with dust. Kaworu glares at the ground, his teeth grinding together... he leans back, he tightens his grip, and, and... he falls, nearly doing a flip. As if to heighten his misery, a tiny rock hits him directly upon the base of his spine. “Ow.”

“This is gonna be so cool.”

“Why do you want to bury your head?”

“Because sausages are cool.”

“They sound cool.”

“Yeah.”

Kaworu sits on his knees, letting his hands hang limply at his sides. Again, he stares at the other boy's back, before scratching a rather stubborn itch upon his arm. Oh, right, the mosquito... He stands, and he gazes at the swing set, mindful of the fact that the sun is creating a beam of fluorescent bubbles in his line of vision. His own hand swipes across his forehead, drawing his bangs back and to the side as he leers the metal, swinging beast up and down. Another tiny rock hits him in the back.

“These rocks are kinda hot.”

“Yeah.” Kaworu says, dazed, letting his fingers poke one of the chains connecting seat to screw.

“It's probably 'cause of summer. School's almost over.”

“Oh.”

He pulls on the chain, and it doesn't move an inch. Then, he grips it with both hands, and yanks... still, nothing. And he reaches higher, and higher, until he pulls so hard that his shoulders ache and he's slipping on the gravel. Soon, he's hanging by his hands, and he puts one in front of the other, one after the other. Kaworu smiles widely and ignores the feeling of hot metal chafing his palms, getting higher and higher into the air, until-- until he hops and wraps the calloused pads of his fingers around the top, horizontal pole of the swing set. His chest rises and falls, measured, working hard, toes pointing to the ground.

Then, he hears a mumble from somewhere behind his back. Given the fact that his arms are strained and stretched as much as they can be above his head, he can't exactly turn to look.

“What?”

“Mffwhf.” Rustle, rustle.

Kaworu swings his legs, satisfied with his job well done. He feels a little like a monkey. “I can't hear you.”

A pop, followed by a chorus of clatters, like a bomb suddenly went off underneath all the gravel. “Oooooowwwwww—whooooooooooaaaaaaaa!”

Kaworu kicks his legs some more. His shoulders cry out, burn, but he couldn't care less.

“How'd you get up there?” Shinji exclaims, scrambling off the gravel to loop around the swing set and look at his friend's face. “Huh?”

Kaworu kicks his legs again, and one of his shoes falls off. “Oops.”

The other boy bends to pick it up, holding its frayed edges with both hands. “How'd you do it?”

“I climbed the chain.” Kaworu manages to say, before his left hand slips, and he's suspended midair for just a second before his knees bend into a hard mass of gravel. Shinji sort of squeals and steps back in shock.

After a moment of Kaworu staring at the ground, supported by his hands and knees, he begins to shake, and in a split second he's limp.

X

Wow, he's sweaty. His fingers twitch and he wiggles the toes of his bare foot. What an uncomfortable place to sleep, here... there's a sharp pain on his stomach, and his eyes burst open. Immediately his hand flies to that area, only to meet another hand whose grip is so strong that it might be breaking skin.

“Owww...” And then two little bullets hit his chest and he wheezes as something unsticks itself from the front of his shirt. Dazed, his eyes try to focus in the afternoon light. Oh, those bullets were Shinji's palms. Not only that, but all the sweat was... not sweat, but a puddle all over his front. The other boy climbs over him like he's a welcome mat, his knee digging into Kaworu's stomach. “Ow, ow--”

“You're not dead!”

“Owww!!”

Shinji continues to treat him like a rug. “This is stupid! You're stupid! You can't take a nap here!” And then a little something rolls down his cheek.

“Wha...?”

The dark-haired boy is quite literally sitting on his stomach, pounding tiny fists into somewhere near his collarbone. Kaworu feels as though he's woken up in a different world. “Stupid, stupid, stupid--”

“Boys!”

There's a hand that wraps around Shinji's arm and pulls him into the air with such strength that his feet lift off the ground, hanging limp and vertical. His eyes are wide like bubbles as Misato lifts his entire form like a rag doll, and a few tears plop onto the apples of his cheeks.

“No fighting.” she says, setting the small boy back on his feet. Kaworu still isn't fully awake. The back of his neck is being stabbed by a flock of cruel rocks.

“We weren't fighting, I was trying to wake him up!” Shinji cries, puffing his hands into fists and standing on his toes. Misato blinks, her dark lashes fluttering, before her eyes rove to the form of the other boy. Almost immediately, a frown mars her lips.

“What happened?”

Kaworu works on sitting up, digging his palms into the gravel and trying to control the liquid swimming inside his skull. It takes a few tries, but soon his knees are bent and his spine is at a barely obtuse angle. “He fell off the swing and went to sleep.” Shinji says, small. He steps up to his side and looks gazes down at him, worried, but mostly confused and angry.

“Did you hit your head?” Misato asks, kneeling down to Kaworu's level.

“No.” says the pale boy, shaking his head and regretting it soon after. The inside of his head is a dizzy ride of fireworks.

“Well, what happened? Does anything hurt?”

Kaworu forces his eyes shut, before opening them wide and peering at Misato, who's framed by the sun. Shinji stands next to her, twiddling his thumbs and staring at his feet, a scowl on his face.

“I climbed the chain and fell.” Kaworu says, feeling odd with so much attention. “And then I sleeped.”

“You fainted?”

“I dunno.”

The dark-haired woman chews on her bottom lip before standing a little and offering him a hand. Gingerly, he takes it, putting his weight back onto a pair of wobbly legs.

“You should ask your parents to take you to the doctor, alright?”

“... Alright.”

X

The beauty of a twisted, soft-serve ice cream cone is an entirely new concept for Kaworu. As he more or less misses his mouth entirely and dabs a mixture of chocolate and vanilla onto the tip of his nose, his feet scuff with each other while they swing. The three of them are on a bench, watching the sunset, as if they could be any more cliché. Across the way, there's a pond of ducks.

Shinji is rhythmically kicking Kaworu's heel underneath the bench. Misato is ruffling at his hair, her face screwed in concern. The pale boy sort of feels like he's the new family dog.

“How often do you take a bath?”

To his right, Shinji bites into his waffle cone, having already wolfed down all of his ice cream. Misato's nails feel nice on his scalp. He has no idea just how oily his hair is.

“I don't know.” he says, mouthing at the top of his ice cream. Shinji stops kicking, then starts again. He throws the last bit of waffle cone into his mouth. Misato's hand moves from the top of his head to his back, patting him. Kaworu is beginning to wonder where all of this is coming from, and why she won't stop frowning. In the end, all he does is get more ice cream on his nose. Really, he's not about to complain.

“When was the last time?” she asks, putting her hands back into her lap. He looks up at her, to his left and toward the sky. There's still ice cream all over his face. Finally, her frown turns into a small smile.

“I don't know.” he says, happy to smile back. Shinji kicks his heel especially hard.

“Hey, Kowru.”

“Yeah?”

“You eat slow.”

In reply, Kaworu dabs his tongue onto the top of his melting ice cream. Misato shakes her head and looks back at the sun. “You eat fast.” says the bright-haired boy, to which Shinji pouts a little bit. Taking another lick, Kaworu faces the boy to his left and gives him the same smile he had given Misato.

He doesn't take it quite the same, though. No, of course he doesn't. After all, Shinji is five years old and Misato is in her twenties. In fact, he takes it quite the opposite of the same. Shinji blinks, affronted and staring at his friend's messy face. Then, he lights into a grin himself, giggling a little under his breath. He darts forward, his lips parting, and he flicks his tongue across the tip of the other's nose to dab away any excess ice cream.

Startled, Kaworu reels back, nearly dropping his own cone and widening his eyes to the size of the moon. He blinks, once, twice, like a deer in the headlights, and from behind his back he hears Misato chuckle a little.

“Shinji, that's gross. Don't do that.”

The brunet boy looks up at his guardian, his brown eyes crinkling into another pout. “Weeeelllll, it's not like _he_ could get it.”

Kaworu's mouth turns into a little 'o'. He plops his face back onto the glob of ice cream, watching the boy argue playfully with his guardian. Then, he looks over his shoulder at the dark-haired lady, who's smirking and nonchalantly teasing his friend. A small flicker makes itself known in the deeper parts of his tummy, sort of a spark or a flutter, and with a gloss of chocolate cream over his lips he can't help but to smile brightly and begin to laugh, as if tickled. The two pause in their exchange, before gazing at the pale boy curiously.

Kaworu likes these people.

X

“So it wasn't a horse, it was a house.”

Kaworu pats his chin into the gravel that's just about level with his neck. Shinji dumps another trowel full of rocks over his head, and he shuts his eyes.

“What?”

The dark-haired boy sets down the trowel and scoops gravel closer to the other boy's face. Kaworu doesn't mind being buried quite as much as he minds his inability to get out of the gravel. All the same, he doesn't say anything and just continues to stare up at the boy who wears a ceaseless smile.

“Misato wants to know about your house.”

“Oh.” Kaworu says, another shovel of rocks landing on his head. It hurts a little, so he whines a small whine.

“What?”

“That hurts.”

“Oops.”

Shinji switches from dumping gravel over the boy's head to scooping it around his face. Who knew the playground pit was this deep?

“My house is really big.”

“Oh, okay.” Shinji says. At last, he sets down the little shovel, grinning, satisfied with his work. He pats Kaworu atop his head. “There.”

Kaworu tries to wiggle, but knows he can't. He crinkles his nose at the other boy.

“Why'd you want to bury me?”

“I dunno.” Shinji says, crossing his legs. He rests his palms on his feet. The sun beats into the both of them, unsurprising considering the time of year. “Hey, how big is it?”

“What?”

“Your house.”

“Oh, ummm...” Kaworu trails, thinking back. “There's two rooms and a great big basement. I had a TV in my room.”

“Luuuckyyyy.”

Kaworu tries to laugh, but realizes it's a little hard to at the moment due to the rocks pushing against his chest. Instead, he shuts his eyes in a smile.

It's quiet. That is, before Shinji grins. “You look like just a head. Pop!”

“Pop!” Kaworu parrots, opening his eyes once more, suddenly joyous.

“Pop!”

“Pop!”

“Oh my god!”

Shinji jolts and looks up, and Kaworu listens in shocked silence, because he can't exactly move to see whatever that had been. Immediately, the dark-haired boy's grin vanishes. “Misato?”

Indeed, the gravel begins to crunch with the weight of a second, much heavier person. Misato approaches with sprinting footfalls, trampling the gravel and spraying it around in her step. She stops, panting, and stares down at Kaworu in horror. He simply blinks up at her, alarmed.

“What did you _do_?”

“U-u-um--” Shinji sputters, waving his arms around. He stands, frantic. Misato just shakes her head and kneels down to Kaworu's level, glaring sternly at him.

“You don't have to let him bully you.” she says.

"Pop?" Kaworu murmurs.

“I wasn't—”

“He looks like... like just a head.”

“I just wanted to--”

“We just wanted to see how deep the rocks are.” Kaworu says. Misato pauses, blinking. She stares at him for just a moment, before clicking her tongue and flicking her gaze to Shinji, who nods fervently.

“... And how deep are they?” she nearly growls.

“Too deep.” Kaworu supplies, matter-of-fact. Her eyes rove over to him, but she doesn't quite turn.

“Is that so?”

“Mmhm.”

She shuts her eyes, breathing deeply, evenly. Her hands are on her hips and her lips are crinkled into an angry glower. At last, she sighs, shaking her head, bending down to poke Shinji on the forehead.

“Wha--”

“Let's get him out of those rocks, okay?”

Shinji's little hands ball into fists at his sides and his mouth opens, ready to protest something, although he's not entirely sure what. In the end, though, he simply purses his lips and sits on the ground again.

“Okay.”

Kaworu smiles at them both while they set about digging him out of the gravel. Truly, he likes attention, when it's the right kind. While Shinji digs with his trowel, occasionally scraping Kaworu's skin with plastic, Misato wipes away the little rocks with her hands. It's after a short bout of sweltering summer quiet that everyone is on speaking terms again.

“Hey, Misato?” Shinji says, loud.

“Yeah?”

The gravel is about to Kaworu's midsection now. In just a few moments, he'll be able to fire himself away from the rocky bed.

“Can I watch cartoons with Kowru?”

“... Pardon?” Misato says.

Kaworu blinks, confused. He shimmies out of the gravel, just a tad.

“Can I go to his house?”

“I moved.” he says, sudden. Both pairs or eyes turn to him, blinking bemusedly.

“Huh?”

“I moved.”

“Oh... um.”

“Can I go to your new house, then?” Shinji asks, bright. Misato puts her hands under his arms and pulls him from the ground, creating a cascade of rocks into the now empty hole. Kaworu takes a moment to get used to oxygen again, being as how his legs more or less feel like limp noodles. Misato, too, stares down at him expectantly, and although she's wearing a smile that's clearly laced with something other than kindness, he can't tell just what it is.

Kaworu feels something fall in his stomach. He doesn't know why yet, but he does. This is an entirely new situation to him. Licking his lips, he allows his shoulders to jolt into a small shrug.

“Okay.”

 

X

Of course, Misato had already known something was off. This feeling, however, only grows when Kaworu proceeds to reject a ride from her car and says they need to walk instead.

It's for a long while that he goes, never stopping. Protective, she squeezes Shinji's hand, and the two of them walk behind the bright-haired boy, Misato in apprehension and Shinji in excitement. Kaworu's hands are locked behind his back and he's humming some sort of nonsense tune to himself, his steps wobbly and playful. Anyhow, Misato had never thought the boy to be in any danger... just, it's odd that he makes his way to the school so far, on foot, alone, and that he always looks as though he's just freshly rolled out of mudflow.

Still, she makes herself smile. Perhaps the people at his house are simply haphazard... there wasn't anything wrong with that? Right, not horribly so. And this is for Shinji's sake, too...

A single cloud, the only one in the sky, drifts in front of the sun. Their path is shadowed, then, but it's bright again soon after.

And after an endless, endless straight line he at last turns. It's a right turn, mediocre. Without a thought, the two follow. Perhaps a way to his neighborhood, maybe an alleyway, something...

Misato stops. Shinji pulls on her hand, intent on following his friend. Indeed, an alley, but one shrouded in the darkness of its adjacent buildings and landlocked with a rusty chain-link fence. A shabby apartment? Without missing a beat, Kaworu just walks, and walks, farther and farther into the alley and after a moment he turns, faces the beaten wall to his left.

“Misato.” Shinji whines, finally freeing himself and ambling over to his friend, following him into the alleyway. He makes small chatter, and Kaworu nods. From where she is, Misato can't hear them. Still, she just stands. Maybe he had gotten lost, there aren't any doors here...

Kaworu points to a stained, ripped cardboard box, large, tipped in its side right next to the chain-link fence. There's a tattered plaid blanket inside, along with a single jug of water. Seeing things, she's definitely, definitely seeing things.

Shinji takes one look at the thing and his smile melts into something worse. Kaworu turns, giving the boy a sweet smile, shrugging a little in habit.

Slow, gentle, Misato creeps farther into the alleyway, spooked by even the lightest rustle. She makes her way behind the two boys, peering into the box. Indeed, just a threadbare blanket and a jug of water. The tiniest bit of moisture springs to life in Shinji's eyes, and he has no idea why. He wipes at them, feverish, and feels a hand on his shoulder; Misato. Turning, he hugs at her leg weakly as she peers down at his friend. Confused, Kaworu blinks, his eyes wide and peering upward. He's so small, she thinks. Not even past her legs.

“Do you sleep here?” she asks, gentle, her hand raking through Shinji's dark hair.

Looking back down, Kaworu nods, succinct. He, too, tries to comfort the crying boy, awkwardly patting his back.

“Is it just you here?”

Another nod, this one shorter, quieter. Kaworu thinks he's done something wrong.

“Where are your parents?”

“I dunno.” he says, staring at the back of Shinji's head. He keeps his hands to himself, then, linking them in front of himself. Finally, he looks back up at Misato with a pair of red eyes that are, for the first time, quite startling. “Am I in trouble?”


End file.
